Sizzle
by DianeB
Summary: Hahn/Torres fun & fluff. This one assumes Erica and Callie have at least *started* a relationship, but maybe they're not fully out to their friends & co-workers. Yet. //Caution: not really a songfic, per se, rather just songfic-like.// Greysmut lite!


Title: Sizzle  
Author: DianeB  
Rating: T  
Pairing: Hahn/Torres

Summary: A talent show at Seattle Grace? Oh, you gotta be kidding! But wait, let's not be hasty. Picture, if you would, amid a sea of painfully untalented mooks, the voluptuous Callie Torres belting out "Fever," and you'll see why this might not be the hopeless case you originally thought.

A harmless bit of fluff set in the summer between Seasons 4 and 5, this story assumes Erica and Callie have at least _embarked_ on a relationship, but maybe they're not fully out to their friends and co-workers. Yet.

Author's Note: I heard (and saw) Sara Ramirez singing "Fever" on a Craig Ferguson clip on YouTube the other day, and I've been thinking about this ever since. If you haven't seen that vid, go directly to view it - do not pass Go, do not collect 200. To say it is _**HOT**_ is to dramatically understate. The woman is a Tony-award-winning singer, after all. But keep in mind that while Sara Ramirez is Callie Torres, the opposite is not true. This is my _third Grey's Anatomy _story. Written in June, 2008.

Thanks once again to my Mighty Editor Goddess, Brenda S., and to Jules68, for her continued insight into the tiny details of _Grey's Anatomy_.

Disclaimer: Watch out, this is femslash (well, femslash lite), a songfic, and it contains one bad word. Don't read it if you're not into those sorts of things. I own nothing of _Grey's Anatomy_. I'm only having fun with speculation to carry me through the summer.

* * *

Hospital administrators, bless their little pointed heads, routinely came up with harebrained ideas to improve morale and promote good relations within the larger community. These things were usually accomplished at the expense of hospital staff, and this one was no different in that respect: a talent show fund-raiser, ridiculously dubbed "SG Idol," held in a nearby hotel, to benefit the hospital and a number of Seattle's non-profit homeless organizations (who would then be better able to keep Seattle's homeless from clogging up the hospital's ER – a distinct win/win in the eyes of administrators).

Participation wasn't exactly mandatory, but if you weren't in the show, or at least working on some aspect of the show, you could pretty much be assured some guy in a suit would pass you in the hallway and pointedly make eye contact.

In a hospital the size of Seattle Grace, this was no mean feat for the suits, so during the weeks before an event, staff, bless _their_ little pointed heads, derived a certain amount of fiendish delight in just being able to give administrators a chance to wear out their shoes.

In truth, no one was expecting much – no one ever did – but these shindigs, goofy as many of them were, always managed to achieve a decent financial goal, and those on the receiving end never complained.

Therefore, no one was quite prepared for what happened at the show, least of all Dr. Erica Hahn.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Of course, since it was a talent show, respectable talent had yet to manifest itself, even though much of the evening had passed. There was one guy from Radiology who delivered a believable act of illusion by making a bedside ultra-sound machine "disappear," and a couple of popular local bands planted to aid ticket sales, but, really, none of it so far was anything to write home about.

The group at the huge table was, fortunately, full of dinner and enough alcohol to make it all bearable. Seated were the usual suspects: George, Lexie, Izzie, Alex, Yang, Bailey, the Chief and his wife, Meredith, Derek, Mark, Erica and Callie.

It wasn't until two more acts had finished (a mediocre dancing pediatrician, and a passable guitar-playing security guard) that Erica noticed Callie was missing. She wondered about that for a second, and then figured she'd just gone to the restroom. Elsewhere around the room, people were either making exit noises, or trying to get to the bar before last call. George, Lexie, Izzie, and Alex were chattering about stopping by Joe's, even though it was already near midnight.

No one was paying attention to the stage, where one of the suits, an older Latino man in an impeccable tux, was announcing the next act. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present," and here he briefly consulted his notes, "Doctor Calliope Iphegenia Torres," pronouncing her name as flawlessly as his appearance might suggest.

Even at that point, though Erica looked up at the sound of Callie's full name rolling so beautifully off the man's tongue, the room's focus wasn't on the stage. When Callie walked out, microphone in hand, dressed in an entirely unassuming black t-shirt and jeans, it felt to Erica like she was the only one watching.

The only one who heard a double bass and piano begin the sultry introduction to a vaguely familiar song.

People talked and laughed, dishware rattled, chairs scraped.

Callie, who had been looking at the floor as the music started, now raised her head and gazed for one moment directly at Erica. Then she fixed her eyes on a distant point and began to sing.

"Never know how much I love you/Never know how much I care/When you put your arms around me/I get a fever that's so hard to bear/You give me fever/When you kiss me/Fever when you hold me tight/Fever, in the morning/Fever all through the night."

Callie's voice was rich, gravelly, and clearly designed to reach the back row. It quickly filled the small ballroom, the lobby, and possibly much of the outside front of the hotel. Even as Callie stood there singing, her hand slapping her thigh to the beat, it was almost impossible for Erica to believe that magnificent voice was coming from her. Who knew this about her?

"Everybody's got the fever/That is something you all know/Fever isn't such a new thing/Fever started long ago."

Erica, unable to tear her eyes from Callie even if she had wanted to, felt her stomach begin Olympic-sized back flips, and certain other parts of her anatomy going unquestionably squishy. Looking quickly around the room, she feared her expression matched those around her. That is, one of slack-jawed amazement, coupled with a faint look of arousal. She shifted in her seat, wondering when the emerald-green dress she was wearing had become so restrictive and when the room had gotten so darned hot.

The room, meanwhile, had gone utterly still. Forget pins dropping. No chair scraped, no coat rustled, not even clinking ice cubes dared disturb the sound of what could only be described as _sex set to music_ coming from the dark goddess on the stage.

The looks Callie continued to give Erica were, on the other hand, indescribable, except that they could _render steel_, and Callie was being stealthy in her gifting. Singing away, she never did anything as blatant as stare outright. Instead, she cast brief, smoking little glances that might have ignited Erica's hair if Erica hadn't already been sweating from every pore.

Fever, indeed.

"Romeo loved Juliet/Juliet she felt the same/When he put his arms around her/He said Julie, baby, you're my flame/Thou givest fever/When we kisseth/Fever with thy flaming youth/Fever, I'm a-fire/Fever, yay, I burn forsooth."

Obviously aware the affect she was having, Callie didn't make any direct eye contact with Erica while she sang this verse, giving Erica the perfect opportunity to slip away, if she could have remembered how to walk – never mind the fact she was half-afraid of what kind of stain she might leave on the chair if she tried.

"Now you've listened to my story/Here's the point that I have made/Chicks were born to give you fever/Be it Fahrenheit or Centigrade/They give you fever/When you kiss them/Fever if you live, you learn/Fever, till you sizzle/What a lovely way to burn."

The music began to fade, with Callie repeating the last line, her voice fading with the music until there was no sound at all. For a single moment, the room hung in the silence. One shrill whistle from the far corner and it all went to hell. The place exploded into a no-holds-barred cacophony of applause and catcalls, of stomping and yelling and table-pounding that went on for quite a while. Dishes shattered. Flatware went flying.

It was a lost cause for any acts scheduled to follow Callie. The suit came up and put them out of their misery, thanking everyone for their attendance and participation, and announcing, over the din, that the show was over.

By the sound of things, it was highly likely the homeless organizations of Seattle would fare quite a bit better than they had been anticipating.

At some point during the hooting and hollering, and totally unnoticed by everyone at the table except Erica, Callie, still in the black outfit, slid into the empty seat beside Erica and scooted her chair right up beside her. Erica could feel moist heat radiating from the woman, which did nothing for her own body's _moist _state. It did not help when Callie, smiling wickedly, placed a hot hand on Erica's thigh, leaned in, and purred into her ear, "Hey, lover, wanna fuck?" punctuating the question with a quick flick of her tongue.

It was only her years of brutal discipline as a surgeon that kept Erica in her seat and her face free of expression. Well, that and the fact that the table's occupants had at that moment noticed Callie was back among them and burst as one into voice.

"Damn!" This from Sloan.

"Geez, girl. You got some serious mojo." Yang.

"Wow." George.

"That was incredible." Derek.

"Where'd you learn to sing like that?" Lexie.

"Oh, my." Richard, covering his wife's hand with his own.

Above the table, Callie cheerfully but modestly responded to the questions and comments, while beneath the table she began to play havoc with the remains of Erica's senses, using tactics similar to the ones she had used while singing. Safely hidden by the long linen tablecloth, Callie, whose hand never left Erica's thigh, had gathered a handful of Erica's dress and was pulling it up her leg, her intentions abundantly clear.

Erica tried desperately to push Callie's hand away without appearing to be doing anything other than sitting next to her, but knew she was failing pretty badly. She hoped fervently that all eyes were on Callie and not on her.

People were getting up to leave. The mood was upbeat and jolly.

Callie continued to chat amicably.

Erica continued to come unglued.

In spite of the dress's length, Callie had managed to get it up high enough to lift elastic and run her little finger along the leg edge of Erica's damp panties, which, of course, caused Erica to jump a mile, unable to prevent a sharp intake of breath.

Though it was something Sloan might be expected to say, it was Yang, who, as she passed them, bent over and whispered snarkily in the direction of Erica's ear, "C'mon, Doctor Hahn, get a room. You're in a hotel, after all."

End.

**oOo oOo oOo**

_When even I see you,__  
My voice stops, my tongue is broken,__  
A thin flame runs beneath all my skin,__  
My eyes are blinded, there is thunder in my ears,__  
The sweat pours from me,__  
I tremble through and through,__  
I am paler than grass,__  
And I seem almost like one dead._

_-- _Sappho, 630 B.C.

_A little bit of Erica by my side._

-- Lou Bega, from the song _Mambo No. 5_, from the 1999 CD, _A Little Bit of Mambo_


End file.
